Do you believe that everything and everyone has a reason, a purpose, a meaning that makes them who and what they are? Can you resolve that with the confusion burbling around in your head and your heart? I can't. But what's the alternative? Acknowledgeing that we're all lost little children wandering aimlessly about? That's just so cold and desolate. (Maybe TRUE, but not pleasant.)
I'll play along though. If one accepts that we have a purpose, one must also accept that someone, somewhere, has some sort of plan into which we fit. Which, in my experience, isn't likely. What sort of being plans like a haphazard monkey, tossing his toys in the shit only to fish them out and play with them again? (Well, a haphazard monkey, but we're presuming that anything that's playing ruler of our universe is slightly more sophisticated than that. But maybe that's just vanity talking.)
But some part of me wants to believe that I'm meant to be something more than I am, that there is some sort of reason to the madness that I whirl through, that I somehow am a part of something big. It's comforting. (Especially considering that desolate little alternative.) So, maybe I have a purpose and life has a meaning. And maybe we're all just covering our eyes and playing pretend. Does it really matter?
We've debated its existence. Now what is it?
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